


Triangulation

by queenieofaces



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aromantic, Aromantic!Asexual!Sherlock, Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock, F/M, M/M, can be read as an OT3 if you squint, post-reichenbach fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 01:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenieofaces/pseuds/queenieofaces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock always planned to fix John, after he came back from the dead.  But for all his planning and forecasting and deducing, Sherlock never once thought that someone else would fix John first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triangulation

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Reichenbach, but otherwise doesn’t really contain spoilers. This hasn't been Brit-picked, so feel free to point out any heinous Americanisms.

i.

Sherlock Holmes comes back from the dead.

He doesn’t rise from the grave with a hankering for flesh, and he doesn’t awake in a coffin with a thirst for blood.  He is no more or less immortal than he was before he died, and he certainly can’t walk through walls.  He can get short of breath if he’s running, and he feels pain if, in a moment of uncharacteristic gracelessness, he bangs his knee in his rush up the stairs.

Sherlock Holmes is back from the dead, but he was never dead in the first place.

ii.

John punches him in the face.  It takes him a full thirty seconds to do anything but stare, but then his fist is shooting forward and walloping Sherlock in the jaw.  And his body language says  _how dare you_  and  _you can’t do this to me_ , but his fist misses Sherlock’s teeth and nose in a way that says  _I missed you_  and  _god it’s good to have you back_  and maybe even, if Irene Adler is to be trusted (and she never is, but perhaps we can make an exception this once),  _I love you_.

iii.

Sherlock thought about their reunion—of course he thought about it.  He hypothesized and forecasted and planned.  He knew that John would not be the same, that John would need to be patched up and smoothed over, that John might even be smashed into a million pieces that needed to be reassembled with infinite care.  He came up with plans, plans to fix John—not that he  _cares_  about John, he tells himself, because caring is never an advantage, but because John is  _useful_ and John is more useful when he can run and do the ( _dull_ ) shopping and make tea and smile.  So he owes it to his work, Sherlock surmises smugly, to fix John.

But for all his planning and forecasting and deducing, Sherlock never once thought that someone else would fix John first.

iv.

Sherlock cannot bring himself to drive Mary away.  She’s not particularly intelligent, although she isn’t stupid either—she’s just terribly ordinary.  She doesn’t seem to mind Sherlock’s eccentricities, although she  _is_  disappointed when Sherlock calls John away for a case right in the middle of a date.  She spends too much time with John, and is always so terribly  _pedestrian_.

If she were any other woman, Sherlock would do everything in his power to drive her away.

But Mary was the one to find John when Sherlock smashed him into a million tiny pieces.  Mary was the one to put each piece back into place with infinite care, to coax a smile out of him, to make him laugh again.  Mary was the one to distract him from his limp, to support him when he stumbled, to hold his hand and run her fingers through his hair, to kiss him and whisper sweet nothings in his ear, to comfort him when he woke from nightmares.

John smiles when he looks at Mary, a real smile that stretches to the corners of his eyes, and Sherlock can’t bring himself to take her away.

v.

Sherlock has considered that he is in love with John.  It’s not the sort of thing he would normally consider—sentiment is dull, and he would rather have nothing to do it.  John is necessary, of course, necessary to his work and necessary to his comfort.  John does the shopping and makes tea and is a much better listener than his skull.  But Sherlock would not for a second believe that he is in love with John.

Except.

Except that everyone seems to think that Sherlock loves John.  Even  _Mycroft_ thinks Sherlock loves John.  He says as much—not even subtly, but straight to the point with an irritatingly smug expression.  “You love him.”

Sherlock sneers back.  “Wrong, as usual.”

Except that Sherlock can’t shake the nagging feeling that perhaps, just this once, Mycroft is right.  As little as Sherlock would like to admit it, Mycroft understands emotions far better than Sherlock does, and Sherlock, as often as he tells himself that he is a (high-functioning) sociopath, is not emotionless and never will be.  Sherlock has, well, not exactly feelings  _for_  John, but feelings  _about_  him.

So, in a fit of boredom, and (although he won’t admit it, he’ll never admit it, he never admits  _anything_ ) to spite Mycroft, he decides to treat all this messy emotion as a case and deduce his feelings for John.

Fact: Sherlock does not want to have sex with John.

Related fact: Sherlock does not want to have sex with anyone.

Conclusion: Sexually, Sherlock feels the same about John as he feels about everyone else.

Fact: Sherlock does not want to kiss John.

Related fact: Kissing and sex are generally considered two elements of romantic relationships.

Related fact: So are cuddling and hand holding and hugging.

Fact: Sherlock is utterly uninterested in having any sort of affectionate contact with John.

Clarification: There’s nothing repulsive about the concept of curling up on the couch with John, but there’s nothing compelling either.  He feels the same way about cuddling John as he feels about eating dry toast.

Deduction: Sherlock is relatively sure that people who are in love are more enthusiastic about physical contact than they are about dry toast.

Fact: Sherlock has never gotten “butterflies in his stomach” around John.

Correction: There was one time Sherlock got butterflies in his stomach, but it was because he had accidentally ingested a poisonous substance and subsequently spent the rest of the day vomiting.  John mostly tried to position him over the toilet bowl and rubbed small circles in his back as he regurgitated the (meager) contents of his stomach, and then cajoled him into taking small, slow sips of water.

Deduction: It is unlikely that the aforementioned incident could be considered an instance of stomach butterflies caused by John.

Addendum: Unless John poisoned him.  Which is improbable.

Fact: The idea of losing John terrifies Sherlock.

Correction: It makes him apprehensive.  No terror involved.

Correction: No, delete.  It makes him afraid.

Correction: Sherlock is afraid of losing John.

Correction: No, no, no, delete, delete.

Correction: Sherlock does not want to lose John.

Correction: Delete.

Correction: Life would be significantly less convenient without John.

Fact: Sherlock dislikes the idea of John dating women.

Related fact: Sherlock does not want to date John.

Opinion: Dating is dull and pointless and emotionally messy and takes too much time and energy.

Fact: If it were up to Sherlock, John would never date anyone again.

Clarification: John’s dates are inevitably at terribly inconvenient times, and John complains about being called away to crime scenes.  If John did not date, there would be no problem.

Fact: Sherlock would not mind working with John indefinitely.

Fact: Sherlock would not mind John patching him up indefinitely.

Fact: Sherlock would not mind living with John indefinitely.

Correction: “Would not mind” should read “would enjoy.”

Correction: Delete previous item.

Correction: It is most convenient for Sherlock’s work to have John near at hand, and as Sherlock is not planning on retiring any time in the foreseeable future, the optimal solution would be for them to continue their current arrangement.

Conclusion: If Sherlock is comfortable staying “just friends,” then he is not in love with John.

Conclusion: If Sherlock has no interest in dating John, in having sex with John, in kissing John, in hugging John and cuddling John, then he is not in love with John.

Conclusion: Mycroft is wrong.  Again.

Conclusion: Ha.

vi.

Sherlock’s smugness over proving Mycroft wrong ( _again_ ) lasts until John comes home, rumpled and content.  He doesn’t even remark on the dead weasel on the table (Sherlock was going to clean it up before John got home, but then he was distracted), and hums something peppy and musically boring as he makes tea.

Sherlock missed something.

Sherlock  _always_  misses something.

Fact: Sherlock is not in love with John.

Fact: John is not in love with Sherlock.

Fact: Unlike Sherlock, John is romantically motivated.

Fact: John has found someone to be romantically motivated  _toward_.

Fact: Sherlock may be an immovable object, but John is an unstoppable force.  And Sherlock can only hope to stop John if John is moving  _toward_  Sherlock and not  _away_.

vii.

Sherlock knows that someday John will refuse to come when Sherlock calls.  He will say, “Not now, Sherlock,” or “Go ahead; I’ll catch up later,” and Sherlock will go to the crime scene alone.  Maybe John will come later, slip into the back with an apology and a small smile, or maybe John will not come at all.  Maybe John will ask him how the case went afterwards and exclaim, “Brilliant!” and “Fantastic!” over the most simple deductions.  Or maybe John will stop paying attention mid-explanation in order to respond to a text from Mary and will just nod at the proper times to make it seem as though he’s listening.  Except that Sherlock will know he isn’t listening—Sherlock isn’t stupid; Sherlock knows when John is listening and when he is pretending to listen—so Sherlock will stop talking and John will send his text.

And that will be that.

viii.

“Mrs. Hudson thinks you’re pining for me.”

Sherlock doesn’t bother to dignify that with an answer.

“That’s the actual word she used.  ‘Pining.’”  John sounds amused, but Sherlock remains facedown on the couch.  Grocery bags rustle as John heads into the kitchen to start unpacking their contents.  Sherlock amuses himself for a few moments deducing what John bought (milk, jam, beans, pasta, dull, dull,  _dull_ ).

“I mean, can you imagine?  Sherlock Holmes, pining?”  John rearranges some bottles—half-empty pickle jar hitting the mustard, trying to find a spot to put the milk without touching the jar of kidneys then—before closing the refrigerator door.  “You’d be even more unbearable than usual.”

Sherlock doesn’t move.  He wonders if it is physically possible to become so bored that one simply forgets to breathe.

John steps back into the living room hesitantly.  Why is John hesitating?  John never hesitates.

Except when he’s about to ask something stupid.

“Sherlock, you aren’t…you aren’t  _actually_  pining, are you?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock says in his iciest and most scathing tone, although his face is still buried in the couch, which somewhat ruins the effect.

John takes a few moments to try to work out the ambiguity in Sherlock’s statement, comes to the wrong conclusion ( _no, delete that_ ), and says, “Well.  I’m sure Lestrade will call with a case soon, and then you can stop being dramatic all over the furniture.”

ix.

Sherlock is rarely ever wrong.  Sherlock knows how John’s mind works.  Sherlock knows that unless something unexpected and catastrophic happens, John is going to propose marriage to Mary sometime in the next seven months.  If John is seriously injured on a case sometime in the immediate future, it is likely he will propose sometime within the next three months.

Sherlock knows this because John suddenly and inexplicably asks him one evening, “What do you think of Mary?”

Sherlock pretends that he is too engrossed in the moss sample under his microscope to hear the question.

“I mean, do you like her?” John presses.  He’s sitting in his armchair and watching Sherlock carefully, as though he’s chronicling his every movement (except he’s not, he never is, he  _sees_  but he does not  _observe_ ).

Sherlock considers his words very carefully as he switches slides.  “She is moderately tolerable.”

John laughs, relief obvious.  “That’s practically a marriage proposal, coming from you.”

Sherlock doesn’t hide his grimace fast enough.

“I was joking, Sherlock.”

“I know you were joking,” Sherlock says far too quickly.

“Well,” says John with that awkward, rueful expression he wears whenever Sherlock has done something odd or inappropriate, “I’m glad you like her.”

Sherlock is suddenly fascinated by his moss sample.

“Right, well,” says John, pushing himself to his feet, “I’m going to make tea.”

x.

Sherlock hates these luncheons.  He hates them because he has to sit across from Mary and John.  He hates them because he has to watch Mary and John trade little looks and gestures, has to watch Mary adjust John’s shirt collar or stroke his hand, has to listen in on all their little personal jokes.  He hates them because sometimes John forgets that he’s there, but he never forgets that John is there.  He hates them because John tries to coax him into eating and tells him not to make a scene when he refuses, even though, if it were just the two of them, John would just shrug and say, “Suit yourself.”

But as much as he hates them, he will never say as much or make a scene (not a real one, in any case), because he can’t stand the idea of John not inviting him, John cutting him out of one part of his life, because once John starts sectioning off bits of his life, it’s only a matter of time before he cuts Sherlock out completely.  So Sherlock clings to the hateful luncheons like a life raft and tries to listen politely to Mary’s (dull, insipid) stories about work and John’s (uninspired, tedious) queries about her cousins’ health, and he wonders if perhaps the reason why so much of the population is comprised of idiots is that otherwise they would all go completely mad from their conversational material.

John’s mobile rings, and, with a grimace, he says it’s an urgent call, so he has to step outside.  Sherlock arranges his facial features into what he hopes is a relatively pleasant expression as Mary turns to him and says, without preamble, “You love him.”

Sherlock is so thrown that he can’t even muster a sneer.

“It’s alright,” Mary says, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with her napkin.  “I’m not jealous.”

“I don’t love him.”  Sherlock tries to keep his face impassive, but the L-word feels odd on his tongue.

“He loves you too, you know,” Mary says, taking a roll from the bread basket.

“He’s not gay.  Or bisexual.”  Sherlock had considered both possibilities in depth—back before he really _knew_  John, back before he understood how  _necessary_  John was—and dismissed them.

“I didn’t say he was.”  Mary is buttering her roll excruciatingly slowly, wielding her butter knife with the precision of a scalpel.  “But I know love when I see it.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow.

Mary rolls her eyes.  “Honestly, the two of you never talk about your feelings, do you?”  She answers her own question, “Of course not; you probably think emotions are for the weak.”

Sherlock does not grace her with a response.

Mary puts down her butter knife and leans forward.  “Sherlock, the entire time you were gone, you were all John wanted to talk about.”

“An occurrence not uncommon among the grieving.”

“For the world’s only consulting detective, you aren’t terribly clever,” she says in what Sherlock assumes is supposed to be a joking tone.

Sherlock snorts.  “Wrong.  You are basing your conclusions on insufficient evidence.”

“Look,” Mary says heatedly, “I know you think I’m stupid and insignificant and you’d really rather that I piss off and leave John alone, except I’m not going to piss off so you’ll have to bloody well deal with me.”

Sherlock makes a mental note that his attempts to disguise his antagonism toward Mary may need to be rethought.

“But I see the way you look at each other, and it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.  I just wanted to tell you that I know you love him and I think it’s perfectly fine for you to love and be loved by multiple people and it’s not as though you’re exactly threatening our relationship because you don’t love him romantically and that’s fine.  I  _care_  about him, as you’ve no doubt  _deduced_ , and John says you’ve been sulking for weeks, so I thought telling you would help to clear the air, but I suppose I was just being stupid and naïve to assume that you could talk about anything like a normal human being.”  Mary grabs her roll and jams it into her mouth, which Sherlock thinks is one of the stranger ways of expressing embarrassment that he has observed.

“Everything alright here?”  John pulls out his chair to sit down, glancing worriedly between furiously chewing Mary and utterly impassive Sherlock.

“Yes,” Sherlock says.  “Yes, everything is fine,” although everything isn’t fine, because Mary doesn’t understand—she sees but she does not observe, so she does not  _understand_.

John glances at Mary, who is still trying to choke down a piece of bread slightly smaller than her fist.

Sherlock’s mobile chimes, and he’s already halfway out of his seat by the time the text finally comes up on his screen.  “There’s been a murder.”

“There’s always a bloody murder,” John says.  “Can’t people stop being murdered for one day?”

“That would be dull,” Mary says with a rueful smile.  “Try not to kill yourselves.”

“It’s a murder, not a suicide,” Sherlock corrects her, already striding toward the door.  It’s only when he has his hand on the doorknob that he thinks to glance back and see if John is following him.

John is kissing Mary on the cheek, murmuring something too soft for Sherlock to hear.

And this is it.  This is the moment Sherlock has been dreading, the moment he knew was coming but didn’t want to think about.  He can’t move for a moment, but then he asks as casually as he can, “Coming, John?”  He knows, he just  _knows_ what John’s answer will be, and he is already preparing to turn and walk away and not make a scene because Mary makes John smile and Mary patched John up when Sherlock was gone and John deserves to be happy even if he’s cutting Sherlock out of his life.

John pats Mary’s hand, straightens up, and says, “Of course.”

“Oh,” Sherlock says blankly, freezing mid-turn. 

He was wrong. 

That  _wasn’t_  the moment. 

_Oh._

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” John says jokingly.  “I might think you fancy me.”

Normally Sherlock would tell John not to be ridiculous, but right now he’s wrestling with an overwhelming feeling of relief.  Or he would be if he had feelings.  Which he doesn’t.  So he’s not.

“Well, hurry up then,” John says good-naturedly, nudging Sherlock out of the way so he can open the door.  “There’s been a murder.”

“Yes, there has been,” Sherlock says stupidly, and he follows John out into the street, already raising his arm to hail a taxi.  He wonders, briefly, if perhaps Mary was right, but then dismisses the thought entirely.  Preposterous.  He might as well delete the whole idiotic conversation.

Or he might keep it.

For future reference.

xi.

Fact: John loves Mary.

Fact: Mary loves John.

Fact: Barring catastrophe, John is going to propose to Mary sometime in the next three to seven months.

Fact: As little as Sherlock likes it, there will be a section of John’s life that will be closed to him.

Correction: It has little to do with Sherlock’s likes and dislikes and more to do with convenience.

Clarification: It would be terribly inconvenient if there was a murder during John and Mary’s honeymoon.  Sherlock is fairly sure that John would not enjoy being texted about dead bodies during his honeymoon.

Fact: Sherlock has three to seven months with John.

Clarification: Closer to seven months if Sherlock keeps John from doing anything stupid.

Fact: It is worth coming back from the dead for three to seven months.

Correction: Delete previous item.

Opinion: Perhaps John and Mary being married will not be as insufferable as originally expected.

Clarification: It will still be terribly inconvenient.

Addendum: And lonely.

Correction: Delete.  Sherlock is always alone.

Addendum: Except when John is there.

Conclusion: No time for a conclusion; there’s a murderer to catch.


End file.
